


If I fell through the floor I would keep falling

by beanarie



Series: Entropy [1]
Category: White Collar
Genre: Canon Divergent, Gen, Major Character Injury, Series Finale, near death angst
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-21
Updated: 2020-08-21
Packaged: 2021-03-07 02:46:51
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,108
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26019766
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/beanarie/pseuds/beanarie
Summary: What if, like, every aspect of Neal's plan just broke down completely?
Relationships: Peter Burke/Neal Caffrey
Series: Entropy [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1890100
Comments: 10
Kudos: 60





	If I fell through the floor I would keep falling

**Author's Note:**

> *shows up seven years late with dunkin donuts* hey so i just finished bingeing the entire series and the end left me aching to unpack neal's feelings a bit more.

Instead of strolling off like the plan demands of him, Keller gets closer, leaning in just after Neal falls to the ground. A carefully timed hitch in his breath to indicate pain and a traumatized respiratory system, Neal lets his gaze slide towards and away from his would-be murderer and he counts the seconds, waiting for Keller to remember the FBI are on their way. When he leaves, Neal can stop the performance, down the capsule, and let its contents take over. 

Keller tilts his head suddenly. "Nice try, Caffrey," he says before slamming his fist in the left side of Neal's chest so hard he creates constellations on the ceiling. "Like I wouldn't recognize this fake Hollywood bullshit. Your last act on this earth was to insult me." 

The stars take a moment to clear. By that time, Keller is gone, and the plan is back on track. Neal stumbles out into the sun, bringing up shouts of alarm from people on the sidewalk. 

Good. He's supposed to be dying tragically. Apparently he looks the part. He decides to stop where he is and hold up this wall. Peter should be here soon. He needs to delay him as long as possible so Moz can make his escape. Well-meaning hands start flying in his direction until he bats them away. Then Peter is there, saying Keller is taken care of. He doesn't look happy, but unfortunately, that's according to plan.

"Neal," he says, sounding sick. "Your jacket is soaked through." 

It's not real, he thinks, beginning to panic. They put too much fake blood in the squib. And the capsule is taking effect far too quickly, making his thoughts muddled. This ruse was meant to be as artful as he is in all things, to _imply_ he might not make it out of this alive, not force a death scene right here in front of a crowd. Good lord, he can feel the fake blood soaking into his waistband. Somehow they'd even gotten it to smell legit. It shoots him back to his past, as a boy just beginning to get used to having one name with family and another with everyone else, he would pinch pennies from junk drawers in his mom's kitchen and coffee cans in Ellen's garage, stack the coins and let them slip through his fingers again and again. The smell never left his hands for at least a day.

He can't begin to conceive of why his heart is racing like this. The compound was supposed to slow it down. "Wait." He shoves a hand in his pocket and closes his fingers around the intact capsule. "Oh. Oh, I'm an idiot." He's also shocky, and bleeding out. 

Keller hadn't used a fist. 

Neal sinks for the second time, breath shooting out of him and taking its sweet time to come back in. Peter, taking a similar position to the one Keller had, has removed his own jacket and is pushing it against the wound leaking real blood all over the sidewalk. 

"Stay calm. The ambulance will be here in just a minute."

What does he say? The last words he prepared had seemed fine, sufficient, back when they weren't likely to be the actual last thing he ever said to this man. 

"I won't disagree that you're an idiot. Why would you go off with him? What were you- No, never mind. You'll tell me later. You'll tell me everything later." 

His right pocket starts to buzz and he somehow manages to fish out his phone. Could very well be a spam call, but if it's Moz, the effort will have been worth it. He'd just really like to hear his voice right now.

" _Oh, good, you picked up! So, spill. This is so much harder to deal with when I'm not allowed to drink. How did it go?_ "

Ages ago, he and Elizabeth made an agreement. Peter, the responsible one, which often coincides with literally being in charge, has always been stuck several hours after a bust doing paperwork and debriefing with other suits, while Neal is twiddling his thumbs and wondering who's going to drive him home, so it became Neal's job to call the exact nanosecond he was free and report that Peter came out of it safely. 

"Without a hitch," Neal says. He never thought up a farewell for her. The plan, if it hadn't imploded, wouldn't have included her, and he thinks, of all the people in his life, she would've handled that the best. Not that she would've been glad to see him go, but relief isn't outside the realm of possibility. 

" _What aren't you telling me?_ " She's far too astute sometimes.

The world is starting to gray out, but he manages to hold Peter's gaze when he says, "Goodbye." She won't need that sort of closure, he doesn't think. He gave it to her anyway because he wanted to. Besides, she's right there; saying nothing would've been rude. He can't hold the phone up anymore, but he finds a way to slide it down and poke Peter with it. "Tell her you're okay."

"Hon? It's- No, I'm fine. _I'm_ fine. Call you later."

Peter doesn't put it back in his hand. His phone is now in the custody of the FBI, which is what it is. Moz knows how to keep Neal's mistakes from dragging him down. Anyone else in there can get fucked. Neal honestly doesn't mind if Jones and Diana are able to make some points off of his contacts.

"Please, Neal. Stay with me here. Open your eyes."

Amid the sudden shouting and the jostling of strange hands, indicating that EMS has arrived, Neal lets out a sigh. Mozzie got the money, June is getting her loft back, Elizabeth is going to have a little boy with her thick, wavy hair and Peter's nose. Everyone is going to be fine. But his memory will fade faster than child's drawing in number two pencil and he's not the type to just be okay with that. 

The paramedics are telling him things and asking him questions. He ignores them. "Tell him about me sometimes?"

"Tell who," Peter asks.

"Junior."

"Stop it, Neal."

They're lifting him onto the gurney and creaking towards the ambulance. There's just enough time to say what Peter needs to hear. "This isn't your fault." Fuck it. _Fuck it._ "I love you."

Just before they close the doors, he hears, "I'm not saying it back, you son of a bitch. Say it to my face when you don't think you're dying." And he finds a bit of strength for a smile.


End file.
